


Asunder

by Westwhistle (Whistle)



Category: Lancer - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Western
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-24
Updated: 2012-01-24
Packaged: 2017-10-30 02:06:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/326575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whistle/pseuds/Westwhistle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Murdoch visits Boston to collect his older son.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Asunder

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prequel, but I'm not going to label it AR. Lancer canon is silent, so far as I know, on the question of whether Maria Lancer left before Murdoch traveled to Boston to fetch Scott ... and whether he had any company on the trip.

Boston was darker than he’d remembered. The raw cold bit into his bones as he walked along the edge of the Common. It was November and the few leaves that still clung to the elms were shriveled and brown. After six years in California, the city oppressed him. The tall buildings crowded together to block the light, and the air was acrid with coal smoke.

He stopped to straighten his tie when he reached the house on Mount Vernon Street, and noticed that some kind of social function seemed to be underway. He watched while a woman arrived with two well-dressed small boys in tow. The younger boy was about the right age and the man’s eyes rested on him.

Another woman and a little girl arrived and went inside before he finally got up the nerve to go up the steps and use the polished brass doorknocker.

A servant opened the door. “I’d like to see Harlan Garrett, please,” he said.

“Whom shall I say is calling?”

“Murdoch Lancer.”

She looked at him dubiously, but admitted him to the foyer to wait while she checked with her employer.

An hour later, Murdoch came down the steps again and stood on the sidewalk. He looked at his right hand, flexing it. He’d shaken hands with a blond boy who clearly had no idea who he was. The child had serious eyes, just like his mother. His manners were perfect and he was immaculate. It was his birthday, his fifth, and the house was full of guests celebrating the occasion.

Murdoch turned away from the house and walked unsteadily toward the Common.

Maria was brushing her hair at the dressing table in their hotel room. It fell over her shoulders, soft as silk but untamed.

Normally, Murdoch might have taken the brush from her hand to finish the job, but his mind was elsewhere. A petulant expression crossed her face, just for a moment. She continued brushing while he talked.

“His abuelo wishes to keep him here, in Boston?” she said when he fell silent. “Perhaps it is for the best.”

“He’s my son,” Murdoch insisted. “He belongs with us on the ranch.”

She watched him in the mirror, her eyes hooded. “You have another son. You are not satisfied with him?”

“What? Of course I am.” His eyes went to the closed door of the adjoining room. “We’ve been over this before, Maria. I want the boys to grow up together.”

She set the brush down on the table. “You have said so many times since our son was born,” she said coldly.

“Until then, I never realized what I’ve missed. I promised Johnny then and there that I’d bring his big brother home to help look out for him.”

She hissed. “You could not even give our son your full attention on the day of his birth. Of course, he is only your second son. Her son is first, something you did not see fit to tell me before our marriage.”

“Maria,” he began and stopped. Johnny was already on the way before their marriage, but it would hardly pacify her to point that out. “It’s not a question of first or second. Just wait and see. When we have more children, you won’t love them any less than you love Johnny.”

She scowled. Murdoch was gravely mistaken if he thought she was anxious to repeat that experience. She had given him one son and that was enough. Next time, she would visit the bruja in time to do something about it. She was not a brood mare.

He misinterpreted her frown. “Don’t worry,” he said, smiling. “We’ve plenty of time to give Scott and Johnny more brothers and some little sisters. We’ll just have to keep trying.”

She had no objection to that. In fact, perhaps it would be a good idea now to distract him from his foolishness about that gringa’s son. She ran her tongue over her lips and gave him a look he had no difficulty understanding.

She was on the bed and he was unbuttoning his trousers when a child began to wail in the next room.

Murdoch paused. “Johnny’s awake.”

“Consuela will see to him,” she said. “That is why she is here.”

“What if she brings him in?”

“Lock the door,” she suggested.

He hesitated, but not for long.

The child was still crying when they finished. “Te amo,” Murdoch whispered, his heart thudding in his chest. “I better see if Johnny is all right.”

“He is a baby.” Maria did not think Murdoch had given his full attention to her, and she did not like it. “That is what babies do.”

“He probably wants his beautiful mother,” he said, kissing her. “Can’t blame him for that.”

Maria did not want Johnny, not while he was making so much noise. That was why he had a ninera to take care of him.

“You will spoil him, Murdoch. It is not good to give him attention when he is being bad.”

“He’s not being bad,” he objected. “I bet he has another tooth coming in.”

Maria sighed heavily when he pulled on his clothing and crossed the room. In a few minutes, he returned with a dark-haired child in his arms.

“Do you want to hold him?” Murdoch asked. “Consuela rubbed paregoric on his gums and he should settle down now.”

She looked at the child. Johnny was resting on his father’s shoulder and had popped his thumb into his mouth. Big blue eyes, still sparkling with tears, blinked at her.

Something tugged at her. Johnny was her son, all hers despite those gringo eyes. She flashed a smile and reached for her nino.

***

The vendors were hawking vegetables and fish, farm eggs and butter. Poultry hung by their feet, the blood drained out of them. He could smell chestnuts roasting, along with all the other smells of the market: wet wool, unwashed bodies, horses, and the sharp smell of the harbor itself, all mixed in a grayish miasma of fog, smoke and dusk. The gaslights blurred and seagulls cried overhead. Wheels clattered and rumbled on the cobblestone streets.

Dawson took her parcel, wrapped in brown paper, and put away her purse. “Come along, Master Scott. No dawdling.” Her voice was sharp. She hurried him along, away from the bustling market. The streets became quieter and cleaner. His short legs were tired from the effort of keeping up by the time they opened an iron gate and went down the alley to the side door.

Inside, Dawson nudged Scott firmly toward the back stairs to the second floor. “Take off your coat,” she said when the nursery door closed behind them. “I’ll get your bath ready. Quick, now. It’s nearly four o’clock.”

Scott had his bath. He mostly dressed himself now, but Dawson helped with some of the buttons and the necktie. She also ran a comb through his damp hair.

“There,” she said, stepping back and looking him over. Her fingers made a final adjustment to his starched collar. “Mind your manners now. Your grandfather is a busy man and he doesn’t want to hear a little boy chatter.”

Scott knew that.

Dawson took him downstairs again and left him at the door to Grandfather’s library. Scott squared his shoulders as he entered the room.

“There you are.” Grandfather turned away from the fireplace. “Oliver, this is my grandson. Scotty, this is Mr. Winslow.”

“How do you do, sir,” Scott said politely, offering his hand.

“Very well, thank you. It’s nice to meet you.” The man’s dark eyes had a smile in them. “He’s a handsome boy, Harlan.”

“He takes after his mother.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Mr. Winslow agreed.

Scott’s eyes went to the portrait over the mantel. A blond lady looked down on them, smiling. That was his mother. Other boys had real mothers and fathers, but he just had the painting. She had blond hair and blue eyes, just like him, but so did the German girl who filled the coal scuttles and cleaned the upstairs rooms. Scott didn’t really understand why people said he took after the painting, but he knew better than to contradict.

The parlormaid served tea at a table by the fire. Scott was especially careful not to spill anything. Grandfather didn’t like it when he tipped over his cup, even when it was just the two of them alone.

“I understand you’ve just had a birthday, Scott,” Mr. Winslow said.

“Yes, sir.”

“Five years old, eh? Before you know it, you’ll be going to Harvard and joining your grandfather’s firm.”

Scott’s eyes widened. That was silly, but he didn’t say so. He wouldn’t be big enough to go to Harvard, or even to the Latin School, for years and years. He did lessons at home with a tutor.

Grandfather asked about his lessons, but didn’t seem to be paying attention and didn’t ask Scott to do any sums, as he usually did. He and Mr. Winslow talked about a family who had a baby.

“His name is John,” Mr. Winslow said. “He was a bit small, and they said he came early.”

Grandfather sniffed. “Disgraceful, but just what I’d expect.”

“The child is healthy, based on what the enquiry agent picked up from the nurse today. He’ll be a year old next month. The mother had some difficulties, but she’s recovered now.”

Scott had made his mother sick when he was born, so sick that she died and became a painting. That was when his father gave him to Grandfather. He wondered if John’s father was mad at him too for making his mother sick, even if she wasn’t going to die.

Maybe John’s father would consider giving him to Grandfather, and then Scott would have someone to play with. He wouldn’t mind sharing his nursery or toys. Scott gave his grandfather a hopeful look, but didn’t interrupt the conversation.

“I should have been keeping an eye on him all the time,” Grandfather said. He sounded cross. “He said he sent a letter last year to inform me of his marriage and the boy’s birth, but I never received it. I certainly never expected him to knock on the door after all this time.”

“He does have some rights, you know, Harlan.”

“Nonsense. He gave up his rights. He hasn’t shown the slightest interest in five years.”

“It sounds as if his circumstances have changed. From what you’ve told me in the past, I understood that his means were quite limited, but they traveled here first class and he’s taken a suite at the Tremont House. From what the nurse said, he’s done well for himself in the last few years.”

Grandfather sniffed. “Easy come, easy go.”

Scott finished his milk with a sigh of relief. He hadn’t spilled a drop. He would have liked to stay, in case they said anything more about the little boy, but Grandfather excused him from the table.

“Good night, sir,” Scott said. “Good night, Mr. Winslow.”

“Good night, Scotty,” Grandfather said. “I won’t see you tomorrow. You’ll be leaving on the early train to the Cape to spend a week or so with your aunt and uncle.”

That surprised him. Maybe he’d done something to make Grandfather mad. The idea made his stomach ache.

“Run along, my boy,” Grandfather said. He didn’t seem angry. Scott liked it when Grandfather called him ‘my boy.’ Some of the tight feeling eased.

Dawson was waiting for him at the door, summoned by the bell. Sometimes she played a game with Scott after tea, or read to him, but today she told him to play with his soldiers while she packed their things for the trip.

He set up the soldiers on the floor, arranging them carefully in formation.

***

A little boy was playing on the floor, babbling to himself, when Harlan entered the parlor of the second floor suite the next morning.

He barely noticed the child. Harlan couldn’t take his eyes off Maria Lancer. She’d swept her black hair up in a knot, revealing a graceful neck and shoulders. Her skin glowed, as if the sun had kissed her. She had hazel eyes, rimmed by impossibly long dark lashes, and a small smile on her lips.

“Madam,” he said frigidly, repressing his first, inappropriate thoughts. “I am Harlan Garrett.”

“Senor Garrett.” Her voice was husky, with just a trace of a foreign accent. “My husband is not here.”

“I am aware of that,” he said. “I wished to speak to you.”

She peeked up at him through her lashes before she took a seat on the sofa and waved him to a chair. “It is most improper, Senor.”

He sat, holding his hat, gloves and cane. He doubted very much if she cared about the proprieties. That smile – actually, everything about her – was deliberately provocative. “I thought perhaps we could come to an understanding, to our mutual benefit. That child is your son?”

She looked across the room. “Si, that is Juanito – Johnny.”

Wooden blocks spilled across the floor under a window, but Johnny had abandoned the toys. Instead, he was using a chair to pull himself onto his bare feet. He succeeded and tottered a few steps toward his mother before his balance failed. He looked surprised for a moment, but promptly began to pull himself up again. Something about the stubborn look on the child’s face reminded Harlan of Scotty. The idea repelled him.

“I congratulate you, Madam. Murdoch is a lucky man, if only he could see it.”

Something sparked in her eyes, but she didn’t speak.

“Of course, I suppose it’s only natural for a man to have a special feeling for his firstborn son and heir,” he added.

Her chin rose. “He has two heirs, Senor. In Mexico, property is divided equally between the children.”

“So I’ve heard,” he said. “But California isn’t part of Mexico any more, is it? Murdoch is an American citizen now.”

“The law is the same.”

She had taken the bait. Harlan let some line out. “For now.”

Maria looked at Johnny, who was back on his feet and clinging to the windowsill, trying to look out.

“Murdoch would not do that,” she said. “He loves Johnny.”

“Your son resembles you,” Harlan remarked. “My grandson also looks very much like his mother, Murdoch’s first wife. He noticed it right away when he saw Scotty a few days ago. I find it a comfort and I suppose he feels the same way. My dear Catherine is gone, but she’ll always live on through Scotty.”

Maria glared at the old gringo. It was true that Murdoch was still foolish about his first wife. This trip to retrieve the gringa’s son was an example. Maria had not been able to convince her husband to stay at home with her and Johnny. She’d initially refused to accompany him, but reconsidered. At least it was a way to see some new places and people instead of grass and cattle.

“What do you want, Senor?” she asked abruptly.

“I want what’s best for my grandson. I’m sure you also want what’s best for your son. Perhaps it’s the same thing.”

Perhaps it was, but Maria did not like this man and she did not want to agree with him. “It is for my husband to decide,” she said.

“You do realize that, if we go to court, your marriage could become an issue.”

“This is nothing to do with me.”

“Ah, but it is if you presume to become Scotty’s stepmother,” he said. “I shall have no choice but to ask the court to consider whether you are morally fit for that task. For example, I understand that your son was born just six months after your marriage.”

Her eyes narrowed. “That is not your business.”

“Not unless I’m forced to make it my business. Then, of course, I shall investigate your background quite thoroughly. ”

Maria scowled. “It is a waste of time and money,” she said with a calm she did not feel. Murdoch had never questioned her story about losing her entire family. She glanced at Johnny, who had curled up on the carpet under the window and fallen asleep. His thumb was in his mouth again.

“I have plenty of both,” Harlan said. “Consider carefully, Madam. Your charms may have snared Murdoch, but are you so sure that you can keep him, especially if you cost him custody of his first son? He obviously isn’t satisfied with your boy, or he wouldn’t be here.”

Although she had said something similar to Murdoch, the words enraged her when the gringo said them. Her hand flashed forward and she grabbed a vase, flinging it at his head. He ducked and it shattered against the wall.

“Get out!” she ordered. “Now!”

Harlan was already on his feet. The crash had startled Johnny, and he was awake and crying.

Maria said something in furious Spanish and pointed to the door.

Harlan bowed slightly. “Good day, Madam,” he said.

***

Murdoch came back in the afternoon and found his wife alone in the sitting room, looking at the pictures in Godey’s magazine.

“Is Johnny taking his nap?” he asked.

“Yes.” Her expression was remote. He sighed and sat down.

“I need to talk to you, Maria. I took a long walk after I spoke to the lawyer and did some serious thinking.”

She closed the magazine and put it down on the table.

“The lawyer thinks I’ll probably win custody of Scott eventually, but it could take a long time if Harlan fights me. Years, even, just like he said. During that time, we’d have to stay here in Boston. I’d most likely have to sell the ranch and start all over when this is finished.” He stopped to look at her, but she didn’t speak.

“Scott’s old enough to be called to testify. You and I would have to testify too. The lawyer says it could get ugly.” He rubbed at his face with one hand. “I can’t do it, Maria. I want to bring Scott home, but I can’t do this to him.”

“To him?” Her voice was like ice.

“It's not what I want either, believe me, but he’s happy with his grandfather and Harlan is obviously taking good care of him.” He looked up. “Maybe I can get in touch with Scott when he’s older.”

Maria pressed her lips together. “Perhaps,” she said.

Murdoch took her hand and mustered a weak smile. “At least I have you and Johnny.”

 


End file.
